t

the last time I may know you

he draws the curtains in the living room
where we eat and hide. behind, the light

plays tricks and I can still see your figure 
receding. I say the ghosts have gone 

quiet, bleached blue. please forgive me. 
I mean to say the scene reminds me 

of fog veiling the ocean in winter, 
when people are home, their faces pasty azure 

from the glow of the television, 
and they are turned into themselves,

lapping over and under, over and under, 
dreaming in bodies like theirs but

still and dead. the jetty is slick with rain.
a child’s sandstorm, winding 

around itself. I do not know if this gets 
closer to the truth, how your leaving 

has never left. I say that I have 
recovered, for to confess is to return to 

seeing in front of me nothing, only
the quilted ebbs of the waves, 

falling under and over themselves,
in terrible infinity.

 

Cover art: “Nowhere To Be” by Siri Stensberg

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Victoria Stitt

Victoria Stitt is a poet currently reading and writing about the intricacies of Black and brown bodies in transformed and transforming spaces. They teach English to juniors and seniors, aiming to instill in their students a sense of urgency for achieving social justice and a love for writing. Their work has appeared in Yes Poetry, Harbor Review, LEON Literary Review, Shanghai Literary Review, Carolina Quarterly and is forthcoming in Juked. They are a Philadelphia native, an MFA candidate at Warren Wilson College, and a dancer.

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